


Tanisha's Throne

by David Hines (hradzka)



Category: Imaro - Charles Saunders
Genre: Chromatic Source, Chromatic Source Creator, Chromatic Yuletide, F/M, Female Character of Color, Gen, Male Character of Color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:38:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hradzka/pseuds/David%20Hines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tanisha and Imaro cross the paths of an order of women warriors, Tanisha faces her greatest challenge ever: to be their queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tanisha's Throne

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teaotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teaotter/gifts).



It had been three weeks since they had left the river.  Coming south, Tanisha had seen the lands change; there had been a forest, then mountains, and then a hard, rocky ground, with low hills that slumped like half-formed pots of clay; then a forest again.  Now the forests were giving way; here and there were openings, and when one of these coincided with a rise she could glimpse, in the distance, open grasslands, with patches of forest scattered in it, and more grass beyond.  

They made their way through the last of the woods and went downslope to the sea of grass, which rippled in the wind.  When they reached the grass, Tanisha hesitated, worrying there might be sharp edges.  She had known razor-edged grasses before.  But when she reached out and brushed a tuft to the side with one hand, it was gentle to her skin.  Tanisha watched as the grass swayed back and forth before coming back into place.  Then she laughed, and ran.   

The grass whipped against her skin as she dashed through it.  It was a pleasant sensation. The sights were welcome relief after the forests; and their difficult traveling; and the rocky hills, with so little life.  Expecting a race, Tanisha turned back to tease her beloved -- he would catch her, soon enough; but she would dodge and dance enough to make him bellow her name a time or two before he did -- and then she stopped.  

Imaro was not running after her.  He stood, numb and still, very near where she had left him.  His face wore an expression that she had seen before, but only in his sleep.  Never in his waking hours did he let slip the strains of his life before her, the horrors he had known.  It was only in the night that the cries came -- " _Mchawi_! Chitendu!" and, once, "Mother! Kulu!"  Then Tanisha would press herself to him and wrap her arms around him with all of her strength, willing Imaro from whatever dream-hell clutched him and back to her.  Imaro thought her ability to ease his night-fears a wondrous and uncanny gift; but it was a hard-won skill Tanisha had learned when still a girl.  Tanisha was Shikaza, a weak people whose wealth and power came by the marriages of their ablest and most beautiful women.  Many a great chieftain or wealthy trader had sought a Shikaza wife for the status it would give him, only to become transported, not by her beauty, but by her skill at aiding him to escape the pain of the hidden wounds inflicted by the world.

Tanisha knew the proper action now.  She approached her beloved carefully.  She did not hurry to him, nor did she move her head or hands unnecessarily, to avoid causing further distraction and worry.  When she was before him, she stopped, turning her face up toward his.  Imaro had, like all Ilyassai warriors, a remarkably keen sense of danger.  But danger never evoked fear in Imaro; only action.  There was only one thing Tanisha knew Imaro feared -- feared, and hated: _mchawi_ , the dread sorcery that bound unscrupulous sorcerers to powers beyond human reckoning. She had seen it work, had fought by Imaro's side against demons and worse.  " _Mchawi_?" she said. 

Slowly Imaro shook his head.  When he looked at Tanisha, he laughed, almost; but the sound was short and hollow, and stuck in his throat.  With a fingertip, he reached out and brushed the the grasses.  They rose to Tanisha's waist, but only to his thighs. 

"The grass?" said Tanisha.

Imaro said, "I was a herder, in grass like this."

"With the Ilyassai."  Imaro's mother had been Ilyassai, Tanisha knew.  They had expelled her, rejected her son, tormented him.  He had saved them from _mchawi_ \-- the foulest of foul sorcery -- then spurned them in return. 

Imaro shrugged.  "It was long ago," he said.  "But here -- seeing a land like this again, for a moment, I thought I heard Kulu, my _ngombe_."  Tanisha smiled to see the shadow slip from his eyes, to think of his old days with the cattle, and now he smiled back.  "I remember --" and he broke off.  A new expression transformed his features. Tanisha had seen it before.  Imaro listened now to his _kufahuma_ , that keen sense of danger possessed by all the Ilyassai, but none more so than Imaro.  Tanisha followed his eyes, but saw only grass.  

Imaro said, "That grass blows against the wind."

Then he bellowed, "DOWN!" and with one mighty arm pushed Tanisha to one side even as he flung himself to the other.  The buzz in the air was not so much heard as felt.  The spear passed through the area where Tanisha had been standing; had the larger Imaro fallen the same direction as she, it would have run him through.

"Who attacks?" bellowed Imaro.  He pulled his sword free.  "We have done you no hurt!"  No reply came.  The only sound was the grass in the breeze.  Then came another sound underneath it: movement.  

Imaro glanced at Tanisha.  She nodded, and drew her own sword.  Then the two of them slowly pushed away from each other, crawling in opposite directions, trying to outflank the position they knew to have been their foes.  A viewer above, as in a tower, would have seen a curious sight: Imaro and Tanisha's figures moving outward and around, in long curves, and two smaller forms moving in straight lines to intercept them.  

Without warning, Imaro leapt into the air.  He glanced about when he was above, and then, on landing, leapt again over the grass to where a small form crouched.  He swung his sword.  The small figure raised a great, rune-inscribed cleaver to block the blow, but the force sent it sprawling.  

Imaro raised his sword again when another small form darted from the grass near Tanisha and charged Imaro with a great cleaver of its own.  He saw the attack and struck.  The second form, too, reeled from the force of the blow, but was larger and stronger than its comrade and stayed afoot.  Both of the fighters, Tanisha saw, were women.  They were engaging Imaro in unison, now; his strength and size gave him great advantage, but the women were skilled and effective fighters.  They were not quite as fast as he, but their movements were graceful and coordinated; they worked in tandem, one's great cleaver spinning high to call Imaro's while the other swung low to target his legs.  

Imaro leapt over the low cut and parried the higher blade with enough force to send its wielder sprawling.  She landed lithely and leapt to her feet, and dashed to aid her younger compatriot, whom Imaro now had hard-pressed.  

Tanisha was close enough to them, now.  She grasped the spear that had lodged in the ground.  As the older woman reached Imaro, Tanisha swung the shaft of the spear, knocking the woman's feet out from under her and sending her hard to the ground.  The air left the woman's lungs from the landing.  Tanisha whirled the staff again and struck the older woman in the middle of her body.  

The younger woman heard the elder's cry, and saw the second blow.  She ducked under Imaro's slashing sword and rolled forward to Tanisha, coming up easily afoot and raising her blade.  She uttered a fierce war cry as she prepared to strike.  

Imaro dropped his blade and caught the young woman in his powerful arms from behind.  The young woman screamed and tried to gouge him with her great cleaver, but with her arms pinned and Imaro's hand on her wrists she could move it about only a very little.  She tried to kick, and Imaro leaned back, lifting her off the ground.  He gave her a good shake, and her cleaver fell.  The young woman screamed in frustration.  Tanisha laughed, then used the captured spear to press the older woman down.  The younger one was fierce, but an overeager child; the older was the cunning one, the experienced warrior.

"You cannot touch me!" screamed the younger woman.  There was no fear in her voice; her tone was purely irate.  "You cannot touch me, how dare you -- "

"Nanisca!" 

The older woman's voice was pained, but kept the authority of command.  The girl fell silent, then gave one more attempt at a kick before acquiescing.  Imaro tossed her to the ground.  She landed awkwardly, sprawling, before pushing herself up to a seated position and glaring sullenly at Imaro.

"He touched me," said Nanisca sulkily.

"Our foes in battle do not think touching us forbidden, child," said the elder.  "They are not trying to profane us; they are trying to kill us."  She pressed experimentally at her ribs, and winced, but seemed satisfied nothing had broken.

Imaro said, "Who are you?"

"Tell them nothing!" cried Nanisca.  "They are spies, and traitors!  They are the enemy!  They -- mmph!"

"Fifteen summers," sighed the elder, her hand now covering Nanisca's mouth.  "Not a one spent in wisdom."

"Who are you?" said Tanisha.  "Look at us, we are not your enemy.  You speak a trade tongue common to the coast, else we would not know it.  How came you this far from the sea?"

The elder woman blinked.  "Have you truly not heard of the _gbeto_?"  

"They lie!" Nanisca snapped.  "Everyone has heard of the _gbeto_!  Everyone fears the _gbeto_!"

"I have not," said Imaro.  "I do not."  He squatted by the girl, aloof and unconcerned.  "This _gbeto_.  It is an order of women?"

"An army!" snapped Nanisca.  "Warriors, huntresses, untouched wives of the king!"

"What king?" said Imaro.

"The king who died."

"Rogue warriors," said Imaro.  "Discarded favorites."  He glanced at Tanisha.  "I have seen this, though only with male soldiers."  He turned back to the warriors, curiosity on his face.  "Are you many?"

"As many as the stars," snarled Nanisca, ignoring her colleague's glare.  "They will come for you, if you harm us!"

Imaro laughed.  "Then it's good for us we won't!"  He glanced at Nanisca, who seethed in impotent fury.  "Though I think Tanisha had best keep the spear."

"Tanisha?" said the older woman.  "That is a Shikaza name."

"I am Shikaza," said Tanisha.  They were looking to her, she realized; they were not sure where command lay, with her or with Imaro.  _They think he may be my servant_ , she thought, and found a surprising pleasure in the concept that someone might think it so.  "This is Imaro."

"I am Kjinga," the elder woman said.  "This is Nanisca."

"Yes," said Imaro, "I have met her."  He rose to his feet, disinterested.  "Very well.  We shall keep your spear, but if you wish us no harm, we will begone."

The older woman blinked at him in surprise.  "I -- " she said.  "Very well."  For the first time, she seemed at a loss for words.  "Nanisca!  Help me up."  The girl, a puzzled expression on her face, helped the woman to her feet.  "Thank you for your forbearance in not killing us," the older woman said, once she had risen.  "We, too, shall be away."

"Kjinga!" called Tanisha.  "Wait."

The older woman turned to her, a guarded expression in her eyes.

"You are not bandits," Tanisha said.  "You sought someone in particular.  Might this person you seek not prove a danger?"

"Not to you."

"We will judge," Imaro said coldly. "Whom are you seeking, Kjinga?"

The next moment was terribly slow.  Tanisha saw the widening of the woman's eyes, the sudden pallor of her lips, the shallow breath.  She could not move with enough speed to prevent what came next, yet she knew before Imaro and Nanisca what was about to happen. 

The older woman just had time to say, "Her," and then the arrow took her in the throat.  

Imaro whirled and charged.  For a bare moment, Nanisca bent over the fallen woman. Then she uttered a harsh cry. She grabbed her fallen cleaver, and leapt to her feet to follow Imaro.  From where Tanisha stood, she could see the assassin's figure: a low, shrouded form, with bow in hand.  As Tanisha watched, the assassin reached down and came up with a new arrow, which she notched to the bow --

The arrow flew.  Imaro's sword flashed and struck the arrow from the air.  The attacker's eyes widened, and she pulled up a new arrow among a clutch that were plunged into the ground in front of her.  She notched and let fly, faster than Tanisha had thought possible.  The assassin had reckoned without Imaro's speed, though, and he barely dodged the second arrow.  The next, Tanisha realized, would take him.

Tanisha still grasped the spear.  She was only fair with one, but the assassin had yet to see her as a threat, so she stepped forward and hurled it as best she could.  It was a clean miss, but the assassin's flinch spoiled her aim, and then Imaro was on her.  By the time Tanisha could get there, it would be over.  She took a moment to check the fallen woman; a moment was all that was necessary.  The arrow had done its work.

"Kjinga is dead," said Tanisha, when she reached Imaro, who had torn the assassin's cloak into strips to bind her.  "She spoke no more words."

"That wasn't her name."

Now that the rage had passed, Nanisca's voice was quiet.   She sat on the ground, her knees drawn up to her chest.  "Her name was Nawi."

"And yours?"

"I am Nanisca.  I always was."

"Why did she lie?" said Imaro.  His brow was deeply furrowed.

"She was testing us," Tanisha said.  "She gave us the false name to see if we would know it. Why?"

Nanisca said, "Because Kjinga is the name of our queen."

* * *

The walk had been a difficult one.  With Imaro controlling the assassin, Tanisha and Nanisca had carried Nawi's body in a makeshift litter.  The camp of the _gbeto_ was nestled above a small valley three hours distant.  Along the way, Nanisca, now much subdued, told them her story: how the _gbeto_ were the third class of wives to the king, wed but unbedded; how they had been hunters and then warriors.  How the old king had died, and how his successor Behanze was leaning toward a deal with the neighboring Abanti.  How the new king had spurned the _gbeto_ , and planned to abolish them, and how Queen Kjinga of the Matongo had come to them herself, and bade the _gbeto_ leave the faltering kingdom of Abomey, and come into her army, where she promised spoils and adventure.

And then the assassin came.

"Is the Queen dead?"

"She is very ill," said Nanisca.  "This one uses poison on her arrows."  She glared at the captive assassin; Tanisha was momentarily grateful that Nanisca's hands were occupied with the litter.  "But she is _not_ dead, and we sent out parties to capture this one, and now we have done so."  Nanisca was in the rear of the litter, so when she hastened to move up toward the assassin she described a broad circuit, with Tanisha at the center.  "We shall execute you, do you hear?" she said.  "I shall do it myself.  For our queen, and for Nawi, you shall die.  I shall execute you, and become truly _gbeto_!"

"Were you not?" said Tanisha.

The assassin laughed.  Her hair was covered by a cloth; beads of shells hung about her neck in three long arcs.  Her face was small and round, and as smooth as a child's, but her voice had the confidence of maturity.  " _I_ am _gbeto_ ," she said.  "This little one was a cupbearer." Nanisca's face contorted in rage.  "Oh, little servant! Will you truly be _gbeto_ if you cannot wed your king?"  

Nanisca said, "Tell me, when I take your head."  Then she said, "There."

There were sentries, three of them, high upon the hill.  When they saw Imaro and Tanisha, they raised their spears and came cautiously towards the group.  Nanisca lowered her end of the litter and went to face them.

"Nawi is dead," said Nanisca.  "But I have the Queen's attacker.  These outsiders helped me to capture her.  They are Tanisha and Imaro.  They are no foes to us."

The lead sentry ignored Nanisca.  She glanced at the assassin, then inclined a head at her.  The other sentries leveled their spears.  With the assassin contained at spear-point and by Imaro, the lead sentry made a partial circuit of the group and peered into the litter.  When she saw Nawi's body, she looked at Tanisha long and hard, then glanced at Imaro.  Then she stepped back, nodding.  "This way," she said.

The _gbeto_ tents were small.  They were not for everyday life, but for maneuvers.  Imaro crawled in first and folded his great bulk into the smallest size he could.  Tanisha followed him.  The sentry poked her head in after them.  "Wait here," the sentry said, and they were left alone.

Tanisha said, "Have you seen that they look to me?  Usually, people look to you."

Imaro said, "You are a woman."

"Yes, but they know what it is to be ruled by a man.  They are the wives of their king.  They are used to a man's authority -- and yet they look to me."

"I am not their king," said Imaro. 

The sentry poked her head inside the tent.  "Come now," she said.  "The great Kjinga would see you."

The camp was bustling as they moved through it.  Women were moving to and fro with great bundles of wood, for spear-shafts or for arrows.  Others were training, in lines of spears or with sword and shield.  Tanisha glimpsed a standard of human bone and tattered flesh.  "Your warriors are fierce," she said to the sentry.

"The new king was a fool to abandon us," the sentry said.  "We made half his army.  Without us, the Abanti will roll over him and his too-few troops, and the name of Abomey will be no more."

"You speak as if that did not distress you," said Tanisha.

The sentry turned.  Her eyes were hard.  "I wept for the old king.  I loved the old king.  I wed him to never share his bed.  I fought for him. I killed for him.  I climbed a wall of thorns, that I might fight well and learn to live with pain, for him.  I conquered for him.  Now he is gone. Now the new king says there will be no more conquering, but peace.  That we shall live in peace with the Abanti."  She spat. "The Abanti care no more for peace than I.  We made an empire of Abomey.  Now we shall make one of Matongo."

"That sounds crueler than I had thought your people," said Tanisha.

The sentry fixed her with a stony gaze.  "If soldiers go to war, they should conquer or die."

They had reached the queen's pavilion.  A lone hut among the tents, it featured a roof and hangings gracefully woven -- in the Matongo rather than the Abomey style, Tanisha supposed.  The sentry gestured with a pointed spear, indicating that they were to enter.  As Tanisha ducked her head to enter the hut, her gaze fell upon the open flap of a tent just to the side.  Within the tent, Nanisca was kneeling beside Nawi's body.  A cloth garment loosely covered Nawi's loins; tufts of white cloth were visible in her still ears and nostrils.  Nanisca was softly singing.

Tanisha ducked inside the hut.  It was dim within, and her eyes took time to adjust.  She was startled to realize that she and Imaro were alone, or very nearly so.  There was a small form squatting in obeisance in one corner.  She took that form in, then dismissed it in favor of the long shape lying on a low platform padded by blankets.  The form was a large-nosed, handsome woman, her skin darker than Imaro's but not as dark as Tanisha's own.  The woman's head turned, and her face took in Tanisha's.  Then her head turned back up toward the thatch of the hut's roof.  The woman's breathing was strong, but labored, and her face was marked with pain.  One of her legs was bandaged and swollen.  The poisoned arrow, thought Tanisha.

"Is that Nanisca singing?" said the queen.  She spoke in Shikaza.  Tanisha was startled; it had been long since she had heard her own tongue.  Coming now, it was eerie: the humbled, battered form lost among the blankets was a queen, and even in the wrack of agony the cool assumption of utter command could be discerned.

"Yes," said Tanisha in the same language.  "She is tending Nawi's body in the tent there.  What does the song mean?"  

"It means, 'You knew that when war came to you, I could not fail to bring you aid; that is why I have come.' "  The queen turned her head to regard Tanisha.  "To be a wanderer is not common for your people."

"I was to be married for coin and for advantage," said Tanisha.  "I found a better trade.  The advantage was my own."  She looked fondly at Imaro.  He glanced back at her, uncomprehending.  She had never taught him her own language, as he had never taught her the tongue he was born to.  

"Is he Ilyassai?"

"He was."

"An outcast," said the queen.  "Who did the casting?  They, or he?"

"They.  Then he."

"I wonder how he feels about his dying, then," the queen said.  "Has he spoken of it with you?"

"No."  Tanisha hesitated before she found the words.  She did not know what the answer could mean.  "What happens when an Ilyassai dies?"

"A warrior?  He is reborn a lion.  A fierce one, they hope.  The greater the warrior, the more fierce the lion becomes.  One day, when the lion is grown to his full strength, he is challenged by an Ilyassai warrior seeking manhood.  The youth slays the lion that is fueled by the dead warrior's spirit, and thus becomes a true member of his people."

Tanisha said, "And what happens when the lion dies?"

The queen smiled faintly.  "Ah, why, then -- he is a dead lion."

Tanisha said nothing.  

The queen said, "I am a dead lion."

She waited for a moment, to gauge Tanisha's reaction.  Then she went on.  "The poison works within me.  Had I time to heal, to rest, I might outlast it -- but I have no time."  Her hollow gaze met Tanisha's eyes.  "They could be safely in my domain now.  But I have slowed them down, and now they will die in battle.  I will be cut down where I lie, if I am not dead already."

"What would you have me do?" said Tanisha.  "Take them away?  Your sentry says they will not go.  Fight with them?  If the new king brings the Abanti forces with him, they are too few --"

" _Prop me up_ ," hissed the queen.  She forced herself up, leaning on an elbow. "Let him see me, in my power, in my anger, let him know that -- " and then she cried out in pain and slumped back to her place among the blankets.  

The little servant in the corner looked up, alarmed, then looked down again.  She could not go to the Queen while Tanisha was there, Tanisha realized.  Then the Queen would appear weak.  Evidently this was the rule among them.  So Tanisha did nothing to help, either.  She waited.

The Queen took a long, juddering breath.  Then another.  Finally, the answer came, in a soft, thin voice.  "Take my thanks," she said.  "And _run_."

When Tanisha exited the tent flaps, she was frowning.  The _gbeto_ were fierce, but they were sure to die, if the king came upon them.  But he might not, she hoped --

The sound of excited chatter caught Tanisha's attention.  She turned her head to the side, and saw the assassin, bound and strapped into the confines of a basket, the assassin's head poking forth into the air.  A small crowd of women stood by.  Cheers and songs split the air.  It had the feeling of a celebration, or -- no.  An initiation.  Nanisca, finished with her tasks for Nawi, stood by, brandishing her great cleaver.  The older women laughed and sang, then began to chant Nanisca's name.  The girl's eager grin as she stepped forward was terrifying to behold.  

The girl grasped the assassin's hair and pulled her head back.  "Now," said Nanisca, "you will see what befits an assassin and a foul spy!"

"Spy?  I am no spy," the captive said.  "I am a _scout_."  She laughed.  "The king and his army are at most a day's march from here, likely less.  They will come.  The king would have spoken for peace, I think.  Permitted you to go, for a consideration.  But when he sees your weakened, foolish queen --?  Ohhhh."  Her grin was cruel, and showed small, even teeth.  "I wonder, will any of you live?  The big one, perhaps; he is strong enough.  His woman, too, if they run now."

"Enough," said Nanisca.  "I will execute you now."

"You cannot kill me," said the prisoner.  She could not move in the slightest, but her eyes were still mocking.   "I am _gbeto_.  I am a wife of the king.  What are you?  A child, uninitiated, untrained -- "

Nanisca swung her blade.  

The first blow bit into the meat between neck and shoulder.  The second bit into the neck, and rocked the head to the side.  The third severed the assassin's head and sent it spinning to the dirt.  

Nanisca let out a howl of delight.  She raised the great cleaver overhead, triumphantly, then lowered it and licked blood from the blade.

Tanisha turned away from the scene.  She found a rise, not far away, with a broad, flat boulder jutting out of it.  She sat on the stone.  Imaro sat beside her.  

"They will all die," said Imaro.  "Will they not?"

He had not understood the words in the Queen's tent, but he knew the obvious all too well.  That probably meant it was true, Tanisha thought.  They are all dead: the ailing queen, the bold sentry, the bloodthirsty young Nanisca.  She could not bring herself to say it.  

"Perhaps they should die," Imaro said.  "Perhaps it is best for them.  What would they do, if they could not conquer?"

"I would like to see," Tanisha said.  "But --"

Imaro said, "But you know that if we fight with them, we will die as well."

"I would not have you die," said Tanisha.  "And not only because I wish to live, and I am not through with loving you.  I know what it means for you to die.  I know your spirit will become a lion, and you will grow strong, and fierce."  Her voice shook.  "And then you will die a second time, to honor the people who rejected you.  Do not become a lion, Imaro."

Imaro said, "I had not planned on it."

The cheers of the women surrounding Nanisca abruptly changed.  There was a call of alarm, and then murmur of talk, and then the women were running for spears and bows and cleavers, and Nanisca, her mouth still wet with blood, came running to Tanisha and Imaro, her face intent and alarmed.

Nanisca said, "The new king is coming."

* * *

The king's armies were making camp not far from the valley.  They formed two groups, each several thousand strong, one larger than the other.  The smaller, Tanisha thought, would be the Abanti, to judge from their shields.  The _gbeto_ were greatly outnumbered.  She felt, for a moment, absurdly like a child who had overturned a biting anthill.

In time, a small party detached itself from the rest.  It began to move forward, toward their encampment.  Its devices marked it as a parley.  The _gbeto_ quickly began to conference.  "If the queen cannot rally," said the sentry, "we must fight."

"They send a parley," said Nanisca.  "We should take it as they come, and hurl back the heads!"

The suggestion was received with some enthusiasm.  But others among the crowd murmured caution.  Should they not have the parley, to see what was offered?  They could always violate the truce and slaughter their opposite numbers, if need be, to make an impression of ferocity, but first they could hear what the new king would say.

Tanisha closed her eyes and let their words die away.  She imagined herself wed to the new king.  How would she offer him her counsel?  What would her teachings say?

The _gbeto_ were a fierce enemy.  He would want assurances of peace.  Given the ferocity of the _gbeto_ , he would hesitate to engage them.  But he would also accept the chance to prove himself by arms.  His Abanti allies would favor an attack, if the bleeding were done by Abomey's troops.  If the king were wise, he would be cautious of _gbeto_ and of the Abanti.  He could not be certain of his trust in either, but was caught between them.

The new king was a man who was weak.  A man who was vulnerable.  A man who was afraid.  Given an avenue of escape, he might take it.

Tanisha's eyes opened.  The murmurings of the gbeto had tailed off.  A tall, slender man stood by the edge of the encampment.  Behind him were warriors, unarmed.

"I am the voice of King Behanze," said the slender man.  "I come to speak to the gbeto, and to your new claimed sovereign."

Tanisha said, "Then you can speak to me."

Her voice rang with every bit of confidence she had ever learned.  She used every artifice she knew: her stance, every bit of height, the arch of her neck, the way she held her arms and head.  She stood before the new king's voice in the full glory of the Shikaza, as if it were Matongo royalty, and she born to it.

Tanisha said, "I am Kjinga."

* * *

Tanisha came down the valley with a train: Nanisca and the sentry, a company of women she did not know but who seemed protective of Nanisca, and Imaro.

Imaro she kept close by her.  His presence, she knew, marked her as not- _gbeto_ , as Kjinga was not.  She wished she had had the time to don some of the queen's raiment, but her own would be unfamiliar enough to the Abomey, and her face and form would help show her to be a different people.  But she was queen of the gbeto, as well as the Matongo.  For that reason, she had followed the sentry's suggestion and given Imaro a small bell, that he would ring in front of them as they proceeded.  This was the signal of an approaching _gbeto_ ; a warning, as in the days of the old king any man who profaned a _gbeto_ by touch, even accidentally, was instantly put to death.  The reaction of the Abomey armies showed it to be convincing enough.

 _Now_ , she thought, _if I can only convince the king_.

The armies withdrew to either side to allow them through.  Tanisha kept her face immobile, but her mind furiously took notes: _good discipline_ was one, and _the Abomey mislike the Abanti_ was another.  What, she wondered, would the Abanti think of the Abomey?  A prudent fear, she thought, but with some contempt for this new king.  If they showed it, and the king could see, her task might be possible. 

She did not look to her women.  The _gbeto_ were either holding their own, or they were not, and it would look weak of her to check them.  If they felt her plan was failing, she knew, they would shift immediately to violence.

The king's pavilion was high, and broad.  Tanisha left the sentry and several other women as guards.  She took Imaro and Nanisca with her.  

King Behanze sat on a stool near the center of the pavilion.  He wore colorful robes and a leopard-skin cape, as befitted a king, but to her eye he seemed more comfortable with the robes.  He was past his prime, but not by far, a muscular man whose middle was beginning to run to fat.  Behind him, and a little to her left side, Tanisha saw several well-appointed Abanti; to her right, she saw a line of Abomey men -- older, more disapproving.  _The men of the old king_ , she realized.  _He has not been secure enough in power to appoint his own_.

"Your Majesty," said the voice of the king, "Queen Kjinga of the Matongo."

The king did not rise.  "I am Behanze," he said.  "King of the Abomey.  I bid you welcome.  Please sit."

There was no stool opposite the king.  His broad gesture encompassed only a carpet of reeds.  Sit beneath me, he meant.  Do not be my equal.

Tanisha could feel Nanisca bristling.  A deliberate insult, meant to provoke.  Which, no doubt, the Abanti advisors had calculated on.  The Abomey men looked displeased.  The Abanti wanted violence, she realized.  Perhaps even the death of King Behanze at the hands of the _gbeto_.  They had planned on it.  

Tanisha glanced at Imaro, and spoke a few words to him in one of the tongues they had encountered on their travels, far from here.  Imaro's face showed no reaction.  He walked to Tanisha, and stood just behind her.  Then he knelt, and leaned forward until he was on all fours.  

Tanisha sat down on Imaro's back and regarded the king coolly.  The king settled back on his stool with a hint of unease.  _Yes_ , thought Tanisha.  _Insecure_.  If she could trigger that insecurity -- 

Tanisha's gaze took in the men behind and to one side of the king.  "They are Abanti," said Tanisha.  "are they not?"

"They are."

"Are you to be king, then, over their people?"

The faces of the Abanti showed what they thought of that.  Only for an instant, but Tanisha marked it.  So, she gathered, did the Abomey to the side.  The king could not see the Abanti, but he could mark the reaction of his own people, and understand it.  If he could have seen them -- 

"They are our friends," he said.  

"How fortunate," said Tanisha.  "I am a better one, to care for your subjects they have urged you to cast out."  She kept a careful eye on the Abanti.  One of them, she realized, shorter than the rest, was glaring at her.  _This one_ , she thought.

"What will you do with them?"

"What do you care?' said Tanisha.  "Nothing against you, or your new friends.  My own lands are far from here.  We shall not be neighbors.  But, in my distant lands, you will have friends.  Among the Matongo, unlike others, friendship is not easily forgotten."  She waved a hand airily; the short Abanti, she saw, was fuming. "You know of our riches, I am certain.  We shall conquer more.  Through your gbeto, your tongue shall reach far corners of the land, making opportunities for your traders."

"And how do I know you will act in my interests?" said King Behanze.

"I have no reason to act in your interests," she said.  "But I have less agreement to act against them than do the Abanti."

"A lie!" said the short Abanti.

King Behanze slowly turned in his stool to regard the Abanti.  There was surprise in his face, and a growing anger -- the anger of a spoilt child, whose fantasy was upset.

"I am king here," Behanze said.  The short Abanti's eyes widened.  "I am king here!  I give the audience!  I invite you, as a courtesy!"  The Abanti's eyes lowered, too late.  "I let you come to my pavilion, and you embarrass me, when I am king!"

"You are king, Majesty," stuttered the short Abanti.  The other Abanti were stock-still, not reacting, clearly hoping that this might blow over.  "You are the king!"

"I do not need you to tell me I am king!  I will not have your impudence!"

"Apologies, Your Majesty," broke in one of the taller Abanti, "apologies for this one."

Now Tanisha turned appraising eyes on Behanze.

This was her moment, she knew.  The Abanti had overreacted, and now Behanze had to overreact to that overreaction, to show everyone he was a king.  He would understand too well that everyone was not so much forming an impression but confirming the one they already held: that he was a weak king, a clumsy king, the next thing to a puppet.  His own men knew, and the Abanti knew, and Tanisha knew; but worse than that was that he knew it.  

Behanze met her eyes sheepishly.  Then he straightened in his chair and turned his face to the Abanti.

Behanze coldly said, "Do what is fitting with him."

Nothing happened for a long moment.  The shorter Abanti was frozen in terror.  The taller ones looked at each other in surprise.  Tanisha could imagine the calculation they were making: was the alliance with Behanze worth the short Abanti?  How would the Abomey react?  What would their masters do?  For several seconds, nothing happened.  They really had only two options, thought Tanisha.  They could turn and walk out, and scuttle the alliance, or -- 

The taller Abanti drew his knife and cut the short Abanti's throat.  There was a long silence after the body fell.

"You may go," said Behanze.  "Take him with you."

The Abanti, glaring, took the body by its heels and dragged it outside, leaving a bloody rut in the dirt floor of the pavilion.  Behanze drew himself up more in his chair.  He seemed, for the moment, to feel rested, as the reflection he had seen was the one he wanted to project.

"Your Majesty," said Tanisha, "I think now we can truly talk."

* * *

From the high spot above the valley, Tanisha watched the armies of the Abomey and the Abanti marching away.  They moved as two columns, she noted.  The friction between them had not been enough to move them to war, yet, but a wedge had been driven between them.  If things had gone worse, she realized, then Behanze might have sought to enlist the _gbeto_ then and there against the Abanti.  It was pleasant to understand that there was more than one path to victory.

She turned to see the queen's litter, borne by four _gbeto_ warriors.  The illness seemed to be turning a corner: the queen was still visibly ill and feverish, but her leg seemed less swollen, and her eyes were clear.  "You have done great things in our service, Tanisha," said the queen.  "Know you are always welcome among the Matongo."

Tanisha bowed her head.  The queen's bearers moved on, and her warrior escort followed, happily singing.  Among them, Tanisha glimpsed Nanisca: eyes bright, grin cheerful, great cleaver thrust aloft.  _May she take many deserving heads with it, if that makes her happy_ , Tanisha thought.

"I think you enjoyed your time as a queen," Imaro said, as they watched the _gbeto_ depart.

"It had its pleasant moments," said Tanisha.  "But I should rather be a free woman."

"I am glad of it," said Imaro.  "I would tire of being a chair."  He turned to her and held out a hand.  "Will you come with me, free woman?"

Tanisha smiled, and took his hand.  "I will," she said -- and then dropped it.  "If only for a little while."

Imaro's eyes widened, and he swore and grabbed for her, but by then Tanisha, laughing, had slipped beyond his reach and was racing for the grass.  Imaro was coming after her, but she knew he would have to slow if not to overbalance, her lighter build had the advantage down the steep and muddy slope.  The flat lands would be more difficult; she wondered how far she should get into the grasslands before she let him catch her, or if she should catch him instead.

Yes, thought Tanisha, the pleasures of being a free woman were infinitely preferable to those of a Queen.  

"Tanisha," roared Imaro, "I will catch you!"

"Yes, you will!" called Tanisha, and ran.

**Author's Note:**

> In the spirit of Saunders's originals, this story draws influence from African peoples and history. In particular, Tanisha's use of Imaro as a chair during negotiations is based on an incident in the life of Nzinga Mbande, queen of the Ndongo and Matomba kingdoms in what is now Angola. The _gbeto_ care for the dead is heavily abbreviated but is based on the description in Melville J. Herskovits's DAHOMEY: AN ANCIENT WEST AFRICAN KINGDOM. The use of the terms "Abomey," "Abanti," and " _gbeto_ " parallels Saunders's usage of them when writing about his Dahomey-inspired warrior heroine, Dossouye (although she exists in a different world than Imaro and Tanisha and this story does not accurately reflect her universe). 
> 
> Additionally, while several names of people and nations are (in the manner of Saunders) altered versions of historic ones, two characters are named for actual people. Nanisca is the name of a historic Dahomey warrior whose training (including the execution performed in the manner described here) and eventual death in battle were recorded by Jean Bayol. Nawi is the name of a Beninese woman who died in 1979 and who had a plausible case for being the last of the fighting group known to the West as the Dahomey Amazons.


End file.
